TO W. E. HENLEY

HENLEY, what mark you in the sunset glare?
The year is dying : is that the crimson splash
Wherewith he seals his testament ? the cash,
To some conveying of all things good and fair,
To others unutterable emptiness ? the stare
Of folly at a bubble trimmed with trash,
Or at a flame, whose unsubstantial ash
Falls in a gaping darkness and despair ?
Friend, scholar loved, look longer : how it glows,
Not glares ! God opes a perspective to see
The chambers of the ivory palaces.
And who is that within its encircling rose ?
Is it my Love that fondles some one ? Yes !
Some one ! O, yes ! Your darling ? Is it she?.